


A collection of drabbles for Poetry Club

by mikemunhoe



Category: Far Cry 5, Other - Fandom, Personal works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2019-09-15 22:48:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16942170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikemunhoe/pseuds/mikemunhoe
Summary: I'm part of a school poetry club and I thought I'd post my writings as they come along :) Some of them are personal while others might relate to Far Cry just because I have a strong connection with that game.





	1. INTRO

I’m Rafael  
No, not like the turtle  
It’s spelled different,  
It’s spelled like that crazy man  
Who died in that burning boat  
In that one video game, y’know?

You probably don’t

I thought long about how to write this  
And I thought to myself  
‘None of this will leave the room’  
And there’s a lot inside of me  
Things I wish people would ask about  
But I don’t need someone’s permission  
To share the deepest parts of myself

So I wrote about how I have more than one name  
Aleks, and then Rafe, and Thomas, and John…  
A cacophony of personalities bickering in my head  
As far as I know, I don’t have a condition, or a problem  
But I like to project onto other things and ideas and people  
And turn them into me, and myself into them  
And they help me make my decisions  
My words, my thoughts, my feelings

So I wrote about how I had to forgive myself for being a girl  
I remembered how I came out,  
Standing in the lunch line, I turned to my friends and said  
“I think I’m a guy”  
And they all agreed, and that was God’s test

And then I wrote about how I found our Father  
About how one day I woke up with a revelation  
And I looked to all the people around me  
And I could feel God  
Not here, not with us  
I remembered hearing His humming through the wall  
And the Earth’s cries in my stomach  
I remember knowing God had moved on, to a new world  
And He had left us alone with Mother Nature’s wrath  
And now I wait patiently for our bittersweet end

So I wrote about how I know things  
That some do not  
I know love is not how we make it out to be  
It is a feeling, and just as any;  
that feeling fades, it comes and goes in spurts  
Anger is as love; burning hot, ferocious, and short lived

I know how rodents are smarter than you might think  
They watch me with beady eyes,  
With curiosity you could only find in a human  
And they watch me as if I’m the one trapped in a cage  
And they understand how it feels

I’m Rafael  
No, not like the turtle  
It’s spelled different,  
It’s spelled like that crazy man  
Who thought this poem  
Was a good idea, y’know?

You probably don’t


	2. NEW DAWN

I remember walking into that light with you  
Just as you had promised me  
The sun warmed my flesh  
For the first time in years

You grabbed my hand,  
Your calloused palms rough against mine  
And I did not flinch, or pull away  
For the first time in years

You led me into this new world  
You thought it’d be glorious  
You were wrong  
For the first time in years

I remember seeing the people  
But more than that I remember seeing the sin that clung to them  
We had come face to face with what we caused  
For the first time in years


	3. MEAT

Communion within my mouth  
I let the blood of this lamb  
Slither through the flesh and crevices of my teeth  
As I suck it from the breast, the loin, the hind shank  
I roll the fat on my tongue and the roof of my mouth  
I push the slither of meat into the back of my cheeks

The slabs of the raw tribe squelch against my gums  
I am consuming the beholder of all things,  
The Judas bruises of my fingers have not left his neck  
The ghost of a hand on the back of my own  
Held down like a bitch

Gluttony carved into my stomach  
(The beholder of all things)  
Wrath marked upon my chest  
(The heart holds rage well)  
Pride wrapped around my throat  
(Choking)  
I take another wet bite  
Like a bitch, a bitch, a bitch, a bitch


	4. TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN

Ask an unbeknownst prophet if he is cynical or jaded  
Watch him as he stares at you with empty eyes  
And fails to say a word  
Assume he is jaded

Ask a pariah if he remembered who he was  
Before the men of meat told him who he had to be  
Call him a liar for claiming to know

Remind him they nailed him to the cross  
And called him a messiah, a leader,  
For doing what they could not do themselves

Remind him with wet kisses, melting wax and leather  
Starve him to the bone, break his mind  
Remind him what it is to suffer for no one but himself

Remind him that your brothers are martyrs  
Your sisters civilians, yourself a soldier  
Remind him he is not the victim of this cause  
Remind him he is a lover  
Remind him that lovers can be villains too


	5. SCHOOL CURSE

Shrapnel shrieks and eery bristles  
Black haired wolf holding himself on that wood bench  
Bent metal, burnt rubber

Cold palms on warm thighs  
With distorted tiles in the dark light  
Hasty love, scribbled onto a card  
Blond blood onto the witches cross  
Clean water, clean cloth

Antlered beast from the forest  
Discharge of a rodent  
A man’s life, taken then given  
Harvest moon, operations blessed  
Maimed chicken, drink its crimson  
Restless animals, Christ has risen  
Mirrors on mirrors on mirrors on mirrors

Red and amber cats, cub, fox, and dove,  
Our small little world  
Feels on the brink  
Once again


	6. PRIMAL

My skin transitions  
From the cold wood  
To the cold grass  
I feel the blades hug my ankles  
And the insects under my feet

The air is cold and crisp  
And the chirps of crickets are unending  
My bones stiffen  
With the chill of a breeze  
And I focus on the empty void around me  
Feeling blind

I am reminded how weak man is  
As the forest rustles  
And I know the dead leaves  
Hug the ankles of a coyote  
And I know He is not blind  
And I know that He could end all

And I learn mortality adds a weight to your heart

And I learn mortality is the purest form of adrenaline

And I return to the cold wood

And I learn the grass is not meant for man


	7. THE FOUR HORSEMEN

THE BAPTIST  
My fingers feel like bone  
Always creaking  
Cracking  
And I am reminded of the smell  
Of burning wood and plaster  
Of the radio cackle and your voice

You scrub my chest  
Prepare me for atonement  
I’ve never felt so sure  
And you promise me  
You promise me

And you cut  
From my shoulder to my pec  
From my stomach to my thigh  
And on the top of my wrists  
My cheeks, legs, and forehead

You watch the blood trickle  
As if you were perusing expensive wines  
And my breathing is heavy  
My body tense  
And you mark me with Wrath  
I say “I can’t”

And, with a warm smile, you whisper “You’re not supposed to”

 

THE SOLDIER  
You clean yourself 5 times a day  
But the mud clings to you  
And your hair has grown long  
And has begun to knot  
No matter how much he trims it

And the blue magma leaks from your eyes  
Towards the ceiling, staining the white

And you flex your body  
And lie by the window  
And wait for the sun  
To face east

And you yell when I come home, baring your teeth

And you pick at the scabs, the reminders of war  
Until they bleed, and you smother the liquid  
In small circles  
On your scarred skin

And you stare angrily at the open door  
While you tear into another one’s throat

That one was my favorite

(You know I will always return  
But you never gave me a choice)

The song plays one more time

 

THE SIREN  
You grab my hands  
And your skin is as silky  
As the flower you offer  
Like a butterflies wings

I’ve known pain all my life  
The feeling in my stomach  
Is that of starvation  
Yet I deny the food offered  
Only because they tell me to

I weep when he takes my hand  
I listen to the shuffling water  
And remember your voice  
They won’t let me scream

I awake from the Bliss  
And I fight  
And I fight  
And I fight  
I can’t remember why  
This edge never leaves me

 

THE FATHER  
The prayer echoes off the walls  
Screaming ‘Tin’  
As your fingernails,  
Cut but jagged,  
Scrape along the metal

And your body is so cold  
You can feel the hot liquid  
Sliding through your veins  
And you always  
Always  
Crave my warmth

Even when I let the steel  
Dig too deep  
Even when I forget  
To feed you

You trust me entirely

And you read my Word  
And you weep  
And your skin weeps  
And your shed of Sin  
Clings to you  
Like a dry lizard

And you beg me  
To peel it from you  
If only to touch you


	8. SCHOOL CURSE P2

All humans are intricately connected in the most obscure way. There is a yellow light shining down from the ceiling and the smell of a fresh wax seal stains the nose of everybody in the room. It is bright and new, yet the room is filled with solemn silence. All humans are intricately connected. We feed off each others energies. This is not something to fear, nor something you can avoid through sheer positivity. It is something we must all experience.

The cafeteria is softer than usual and the room is filled with a bubbling static as everyone quietly eats their food, eyes lidded and despondent. Some feel too detached to eat, instead, staring down at their phones, or notebooks, or laptops. All humans are intricately connected and as I learn this I stand up and face the people of these rooms and take a survey. All humans are intricately connected and the winter is filled with the crying souls of those before us.

They float amongst the cold and crisp winds and cling onto each flake of powdery snow. All humans are intricately connected during this season as we unknowingly mourn those who failed to survive the frost.


	9. GLUTTONY

my sin is fought thru illness. bullemia plagues those who understand this. i am plagued with a lack of self-destruction, as i rebuild myself into the holiest of temples, the grandest of catherdrals; crafted from canine bones and slabs of rotten meat.

i store my treasures in this place of worship. i return to the natural form of consumerism as i fill these halls with the sweet smell of luscious sugar and bitter tasting sodium.

the only time i am truly free of this brimming sanctuary is in treaterous illness; when the walls are splattered with chunky, brownish-yellow bile and the stains of angry tears and snot stain the satin furniture.

i look upon the plentiful fruit, those of which inflict ailment, and am repulsed by the site, the smell, the texture. a burning, liquid knot rises in my throat once more.


	10. WILLI?12AM

Abusers,  
Brothers,  
Missed;

“A whiteboard which erases himself each year”  
Hysterical in response  
A liquid static uncomfortable  
And a tired leer

Abandoned  
But wanting  
Hoping there is enough left  
At 12:00  
To remember  
The bittersweet haunting

Peach colored clouds  
Against light speckled blue  
Should’ve wrote this  
When I could remember my mood


	11. DROWNING

His father called him the Devil  
But he saw you and all he could feel was God  
He’d never felt anything so blazing, so white  
A burning that paled in comparison to his father’s cigarettes  
An ecstasy that could not match those little blue pills  
He finds his comfort in your arms

His father called him weak  
But he saw you and all he knew was strength  
He cherishes the slabs of meat that stretch against the pull of his teeth  
And he drinks the blood from his wounds  
And he is strong, strong, strong, strong  
He kisses the palm of your hands,  
And presses his lips softly to yours  
You tell him to free the weak, and he does  
You’ve never felt so free in your life

His father called him evil  
But he saw you and all he wanted was to be soft  
He runs his hands through your slicked hair  
And he kisses your scarred knuckles  
He puts your pain between his lips and gently holds it with his teeth  
He reminds the pain that he is always there  
And he holds you so tight  
He says he will never be free until you are free yourself  
He does not rush you

His father called him spineless  
But he saw you and he felt the mountain lift from his tired back  
He puts the flower to his lips to feel the silk  
He never wants to let go of your hand  
And he brings new friends with him each day  
Carrying their sorrow as Atlas  
Begging you to help them, to heal them  
He never asks you to save him


	12. JUDAS BRUISES

1\. It’s an old needle from a shoebox in the closet. Just enough ink left for what he wants, what he needs. Just one more reminder. One day he won’t have to look at it and feel the sea of fear; crashing waves eroding his heart and mind. He holds it out and wraps a hand around his throat. Joseph understands. He always understands.

2\. He’s quite accustomed to random hallucinations; things dwelling in the corner of the room, voices shaming him from far away, a feeling of hands and their tight grip around his arms. In a weak state he’d thrash against his restraints and tear open his wrists. Joseph learns how to fix him, heal him, make him see right again.

3\. Delirium gnaws away at him and he scribbles down almost incoherent notes. They always end up disappearing, but he’s glad he doesn’t have to relive the feelings through words. Joseph presses the notes in the back pages of his book.

4\. Joseph tells Judas his Word. He doesn’t understand but he never asks. The words hang over him as heavy as a halo, a beast in his stomach. He knows who he is now.

5\. All he can feel is warm lips, warm skin, warm, warm, warm, warm. He pulls his clothes on but nothing rids of the wet warmth; on his lips, on his jaw, on his thighs, on his hands and ankles.

6\. He learns to let the hot water seep into his mouth, to keep him afloat. There is a burning metal cross bumping against his chest and calloused hands holding his. He falls asleep in the safety.


	13. GLUTTONY, REVISITED

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needed a 2 minute slam poem for HUM, so extended this beauty

Sin fought thru illness. Bulimia plagues those who understand this. Plagued with a disgusting lack of self-destruction as he rebuilds himself into the holiest of temples, the grandest of cathedrals; crafted from canine bones and slabs of rotten flesh.

Store treasures in this place of worship, return to the natural form of consumerism by filling these halls with the sweet smell of luscious sugar and bitter tasting sodium.

The only time he is truly free of this brimming sanctuary is in treacherous illness; when the walls are splattered with chunky, brown and yellow bile and the stains of angry tears and snot stain the satin furniture.

He looks upon the plentiful fruit, those of which inflict ailment, and, for once, is repulsed by the sight, the smell, the texture, the feeling of the sugar drenched honey dripping from his chapped lips and down his stained chin. A burning, wet knot rises in his throat once more.  
The liquid sugar erodes his blackened sweet teeth that he bares so elegantly. The fluid is ferocious and expels itself from his throat and onto his skin, melting him into a heaving slumber, with his face hot and blistering.

And, dear Lord, he finds Saint Judas in this spell, his lover, with the same torrid bile running through his veins, with the thickness of grease holding back his wild locks. “Stop pulling your teeth out when you talk to me” he says.

He is not an ordinary lover, no. He will place a pouch of meat into your mouth, brimming at the edges with blood. You’ve already been trained to bite but that flesh will never pop no matter how deep your gold lined teeth sink.

And when that smoking lavender graces him, he’s back home with that lover, the old Victorian table spans the room, a taste he can feel in the depths of his teeth. Spangled chandeliers with crimson wax dripping down into his wine and cigar ashes flaking onto his meal.

Pay no mind to the antlered sugar skulls lining the table with the slimy layers of meat clinging and the small hearts still desperately beating. Pay no mind to the fish heads buried in ice with sweet, sweet cherries in their mouths and, dear Lord! Pay no mind to the feverish look in his eyes!

They watch as if he were perusing exotic wines, as if to devour him, as if he was nothing but another sweet thing to taste, to press to his tongue and to his gums and to feel slide seedily down his throat only to be ruminated from a knowing body. A body that lives with a noose around its throat crafted from the welts of love and the tender ache of hate.

A body that guides thy hand towards the seering white light not knowing that he ravages whatever he touches, turning the vapid light to an inky black and drinking it as you might a hard liquor, turned sour with decadence, something that melts on his tongue as bitterly as freshly weaved cotton candy, transformed as water to sickly wine.

Sin fought through consumption. I am these men of vile action, and you should know we are almost you. With blackened gem teeth and a cut out tongue we will crawl on torn knees through the hottest of deserts if it means consuming all that is you.

No one ever taught me how to love someone without becoming them.


	14. DAUGHTER EARTH

There is a honey flavored girl in a dress woven from cherub tears. Her legs spread wide in the warm spring rain. She beckons me with pale silk skin and a sweetened tongue. Her body is marked with Judas bruises, scabbed over and purple. Her left ear torn apart to keep from hearing the devil on her shoulder. Her lungs are empty and her blood is pink. Her bones are painted gold and her wings press against her spine, trying to break free. She lays in the mud without a care, her heart stained and tainted. When she breathes, the Earth breathes with her.


	15. COMPROMISE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I read this on stage during a poetry reading for my school and a girl was making transphobic remarks towards me the whole time ✌️

How am I supposed to feel the touch of another man without giving myself away. Do you want me to tell you the truth, do you want to hear me say it? It’s not supposed to be weird, I’m just lonely. But I am not alone and I am surrounded by all these people who know me but not me or me or me or me.

And what would they think if they did? What would you think? Would you just entangle your limbs in mine and shut your mouth? I did not ask you to speak I asked you to love. And I realize I am becoming my dad.

“I did not ask you to speak I did not ask to hear your thoughts I did not ask to hear your opinion  
I asked you to love me no matter how I tear you down I asked you to love me no matter what I say I asked you to love me even though I want to die before you are old”

Well, me too


	16. MY CAT EATS BUGS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of bugs find their way into my room at night

I like it when it’s just moths. They crawl in my stomach, lining my intestines with soft silk powder. Most of them are so small, and sometimes the smallest things hold the most kindness. I offer my hand to them and they rest upon it, gently cleaning their antennae. They do not know my wrongs, nor fear my size. They can tell the heart of a man just by looking, they’ve lived forever with twice as much.

I hate it when it’s just beetles. They buzz around in my head, clicking their wings noisily. They nip at my thoughts, their shells protecting them from being crushed by the weight of a conscience. They are a frightful thing to touch and those who dare find the beasts wrapping themselves into their shells until the offer passes. They can tell the heart of a man only by tasting, but they contain none for themselves.


	17. UPON A TIME

A heavy weight pressed to his body. He’s never felt this one, but it’s familiar.  
Late nights with the dog napping on him. He scratches gently behind its ears and thinks to himself ‘this is not what I meant to be’. He is the empty husk of a mayfly. You wake up one day and he’s on your window. Soon he’ll be gone, but the shell of him will be a bittersweet reminder.

Knees first on the cold bathroom tile. This one is familiar too.  
Waking up feeling sick, being sick. Sweat slick skin gripping the toilet bowl as the reminder of ‘you didn’t eat today’ pours from his mouth. He used to get on his knees to whisper ‘oh god’, and then he would get on his knees to make others whisper ‘oh god’. Now he’s on his knees to die. It’s not what he meant to be.

There’s heavy metal in his hand and he faces a beast. It’s familiar but he doesn’t know why.   
He thinks he loved this beast once and his life isn’t his own anymore. The voice in his head says ‘do you remember? Why don’t you remember?’ and he’s shaking as his finger inches towards the trigger. This is not what he meant to be.


	18. SNOT

I can’t breathe. I am a child inside of an adult inside of a child. It’s cramped in here and I am so alone. How would you know if I am hurting if I don’t tell you? You wouldn’t. I feel so far from myself. Would you let me rest my head on your shoulder as I sob? I promise I’ll do the laundry after, and my face covered in snot and tears makes for a mighty pretty picture. Would you leave once you take the shot? When you live with a symphony in your heart you learn to ignore it. Would you leave once you take the shot? It’s a slow burn but not one of love. Would you leave once you take the shot? When they find me, cold body, a streaked face and a bloody abdomen, make sure they wrap me in silk before they throw me to the wolves. Make sure they bathe me in honey before the insects eat me undead. Make sure when I come back for you that I kill you.


End file.
